


For Auld Lang Syne (happy new year, punk)

by moonythejedi394



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky gives a hug, Civil War Fix-It, Coming of Age, Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Angst, House of Stucky discord, Hurt/Comfort, Ignores Civil War, Ignores Infinity War and Endgame, Kid Bucky Barnes, Kid Steve Rogers, M/M, Minor Character Death, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Not Canon Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Secret Santa, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, and 1 homophobic slur of random nature, ignores Age of Ultron, splash of daddy kink, sprinkling of irondad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 17:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17268074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonythejedi394/pseuds/moonythejedi394
Summary: Shall old acquaintance be forgot, for auld lang syne.Five of Steve and Bucky's New Years Eves that weren't as happy as they could be, plus one that was the happiest they could imagine.





	For Auld Lang Syne (happy new year, punk)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [majesticdragonair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticdragonair/gifts).



> _For House of Stucky Discord's Secret Santa! Happy New Year and Merry Christmas, majesticdragonair!_

 

 

#  _December 31st, 1924_

 

It was freezing cold outside; a deluge of rain had been hammering New York for three days. Still, Bucky was vibrating out of his shoes to get outside.

 

“Becca, hurry up!” Bucky whined, bouncing in place. “Tie your shoes faster!”

 

“I don’t know how!” Becca yelled at him. To be fair, she was only 4.

 

Bucky gave a very loud groan. “It’s not that hard!”

 

“Yes, it is!”

 

“No, it’s not!”

 

“Yes, it is!”

 

“No, it’s not!”

 

“Yes, it –”

 

“KIDS!” Ma yelled.

 

Becca and Bucky froze up, both of them clapping their hands over their mouths. Ma walked in, rubbing her temples.

 

“Bucky,” she sighed, “I know you really want to go see Steve. But you have to learn how to be patient with your little sister!”

 

“Why do I gotta take her anyway?” Bucky complained. “Me and Steeb don’ wanna play with her!”

 

Becca screwed up her face in a glare and hmphed in Bucky’s direction. “I don’ wanna play with him!” she shouted at their mom.

 

“See!” Bucky said.

 

“Ugh,” Ma sighed. “Fine. Bucky, go by yourself. Go straight there –”

 

“Bye!” Bucky yelled, running for the door.

 

“– and don’t go anywhere else!” Ma called after him.

 

Bucky tore out of the house in a whirl. His mother needn’t have worried. The Rogers lived just next door and there was nothing Bucky liked more than visiting his best friend.

 

Bucky ran up the Rogers’ steps and knocked hard on the front door. “Ma Rogers!” he shouted, knocking hard again. “Ma Rogers!”

 

The door opened as Bucky was banging on it a third time. Ma Rogers smiled fondly down at him, one hand on her hip and the other holding the door.

 

“I thought you were coming over tomorrow,” she said with a laugh.

 

“My ma said I could come tonight,” Bucky told her, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet again. “Can I play with Steeb, pleeease?”

 

Ma Rogers sighed, but Bucky could tell she didn’t mean it. She stepped aside.

 

“Thanks!” Bucky shouted, taking off like a rocket into the house.

 

“Shoes and coat!” Ma Rogers called after him.

 

Bucky skidded to a stop just before the end of the mudroom, yanked off his coat and boots, and barely took the time to hang up his coat. Then he resumed running to get upstairs.

 

“STEEB!” he called, banging off the wall landing and simply carrying on. “STEEB!”

 

He heard Ma Rogers downstairs laughing, but Bucky carried on without a care. He ran down the hallway and fairly crashed through Steve’s doorway into his bedroom.

 

“Hi, Steeb!” Bucky said excitedly, throwing himself into the chair by Steve’s bedside. “Are you excited for the new year? Ma says it’s gonna be 1925!”

Steve coughed weakly, but he was smiling. He nodded. He lay in bed covered by a heavy quilt, his cheeks bright pink and his nose runny. He’d been sick for a few weeks now, and it was only now that either Bucky’s ma or Steve’s ma had let Bucky visit him. Ma Rogers said Steve was still pretty sick, but he was gonna be okay. Bucky didn’t know what anybody had been so worried about; of course, Steve was gonna be okay, he was Bucky’s best pal.

 

“I have so much to tell you!” Bucky said, propping his elbows on the edge of the bed. “I lost a tooth last week, see?”

 

Bucky grinned widely, pulling down his lower lip to show the missing tooth. Steve inhaled a soft little gasp, his lips stretching in a smile. He couldn’t talk; Ma Rogers said his throat hurt too much.

 

“It didn’t even hurt!” Bucky told Steve; which was mostly true. It didn’t hurt enough that he had cried. “But it’s not as cool as losing two teeth at once.”

 

Steve promptly grinned as wide as he could, showing his missing two front teeth. Bucky laughed as he always did.

 

Bucky told Steve about everything that had happened and Steve had missed being sick. Steve laughed silently or clapped his hands at his favorite parts and wheezed under his breath when he was laughing _at_ Bucky. Bucky didn’t mind. He just liked that Steve was happy.

 

It didn’t feel like long, but soon Ma Rogers came in to tell them that supper was ready. Steve lit up, realizing that this meant he didn’t have to eat in bed.

 

“Come on!” Bucky called, grabbing Steve’s hand.

 

Supper was potato soup and Ma’s fresh bread. Bucky liked eating at the Rogers’ house ‘cause Ma Rogers always made her own bread and it was the best thing Bucky ever ate.

 

“Would you two like to stay up until 1925?” Ma Rogers asked them.

 

“Would we!” Bucky cheers. He elbowed Steve. “Right, Steeb?”

 

Steve nodded enthusiastically and grinned and clapped his hands. Ma Rogers smiled.

 

“Then bedtime’s pushed back to midnight,” Ma Rogers promised them.

 

“How long ‘til that?” Bucky asked.

 

“About five hours,” Ma Rogers told him as her eyes crinkled at the corners with the force of her smile.

 

“But that’s so long!” Bucky whined. “Can you make it go faster?”

 

“No, darling,” Ma Rogers laughed.

 

Steve wrinkled his nose and pouted hard; he crossed his arms over his tiny chest and huffed as strongly as he could. It was still a little weak.

 

Ma Rogers laughed again and scritched her nails through Steve’s hair. Steve’s pout snapped into a smile and he pressed into his ma’s touch. Bucky reached over and ruffled Steve’s hair, too, and Steve wheezed in a soft laugh as he waved him off.

 

“Aw, c’mon, punk!” Bucky said, lunging for him. “C’mere!”

 

Steve let out a raspy squeal and dove out of his seat to run away. Bucky tore into chasing him. He could hear Ma Rogers laughing in the kitchen and Bucky chased Steve right out into the living room. He let Steve get ahead of him, though. He didn’t mind letting Steve win now and then.

 

They played Tag and then Hide and Seek; they roped Ma Rogers into playing and made her try to find them. Steve was really good at Hide and Seek, so Bucky just hid where Steve told him. Ma hardly ever found them.

 

Around nine, Steve got sleepy. Bucky did, too, but he wasn’t going to admit it. Ma Rogers suggested they read a book instead of playing, and the two of them promptly passed out curled up on the sofa with Steve’s ma.

 

But Ma Rogers woke them up not long later. Bucky blinked in confusion and Steve complained in a long wordless whine.

 

“It’s almost 1925!” Ma Rogers said. “Don’t you want to ring in the New Year?”

 

Bucky woke up immediately. “Happy New Year!” he cried.

 

Steve sat up, too, clapping his hands. Ma Rogers smiled, her eyes wrinkling, and she scooped both of them up off the sofa.

 

“Up, up, up we go!” she said, carrying them up the stairs. “The fireworks will start soon.”

 

“Fireworks, Steeb!” Bucky cried.

 

“Fireworks!” Steve rasped back in his weak voice.

 

Ma Rogers carried them all the way into her bedroom, where she opened the window and tossed a thick blanket out onto the fire escape. It had stopped raining since Bucky came in, though the grate was still wet. Ma helped both of them climb out, then she joined them and wrapped the blanket around all three of them.

 

She pulled out her pocket watch. “Just a few seconds to go,” she said.

 

Steve clapped his hands, bouncing in his spot. Bucky squealed and hugged him out of excitement.

 

“Ten!” Ma Rogers said. “Nine!”

 

“Eight!”  Bucky said, remembering from school how to count to ten.

 

“Seven!” Ma Rogers continued.

 

“Five!” Steve rasped, clapping his hands.

 

“Six,” Ma Rogers corrected.

 

“Four!” Bucky said, grabbing Ma’s watch.

 

“Three!” Ma and Bucky said together. Steve joined them for “Two!”

 

Fireworks burst into bright life in the sky.

 

“Happy New Year!” the three of them all said; Steve’s raspy voice was drowned out by the crack of the fireworks, let alone Bucky’s and Ma Rogers’, but he still said it and that was what counted.

 

Bucky had stayed up all night last year, and when it had struck midnight, he’d seen his pa kiss his ma. So he hugged Steve around the neck and planted a messy kiss on his cheek. Steve giggled and squirmed to get out of his grip, but Bucky hugged him tightly and did it again.

 

“Get off!” Steve wheezed. “‘M not five!”

 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Ma Rogers laughed. “What’re you kissin’ him for, James Buchanan?”

 

“‘Cause Pa kissed Ma at midnight!” Bucky said.

 

“Oh, kiddo,” Ma laughed. “Honey, your pa kissed your ma because married people kiss at midnight, not friends.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said.

 

“But I wan’ Bucky t’a kiss me!” Steve rasped.

 

“We’ll jus’ get married,” Bucky told Steve simply, since it was the obvious solution.

 

Ma Rogers’s smile went away. She hugged both boys to her body, pulling the blanket tighter.

 

“Kiddos,” Ma sighed. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

 

Bucky and Steve made eye contact; Steve shrugged helplessly. Bucky didn’t get it, either. Obviously, he and Steve would just get married when they were grownups, then they could kiss for the New Year. Bucky didn’t get why Steve’s ma was suddenly so sad.

 

“Time for bed,” Ma Rogers told them. “C’mon, back inside.”

 

Bucky crawled back through the window and turned back to help Steve like Ma Rogers would. Ma Rogers pulled the blanket back inside, laying it over the radiator to dry.

 

“Off to bed,” Ma Rogers said, guiding both of them out of her room and into Steve’s. “Bucky, I’ll bring the sofa cushions up for you.”

 

Bucky nodded, not answering because he was yawning. Steve tugged on his ma’s sleeve.

 

“Can Bucky share wit’ me?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

 

Ma tightened her smile. “No, darling,” she said. “He’s got to sleep on the floor because you’re sick, remember?”

 

“Okay,” Steve mumbled sadly.

 

Bucky hugged Steve one more time. “We’ll share next time,” he said.

 

Ma Rogers didn’t answer them. She tucked Steve in and set Bucky on the bed next to him to wait, while she went downstairs to get the sofa cushions. She made a little bed for Bucky on the floor next to Steve’s bed, tucking him in, too.

 

“Good night, kiddos,” she said as she shut the door.

 

Bucky rolled onto his side and yawned, but reached up to touch Steve’s hand, dangling from the bed.

 

“Happy New Year, punk,” Bucky said as he shut his eyes.

 

“Happy New Year, jerk,” Steve whispered.

 

#  _December 31st, 1935_

 

Bucky put on his coat sedately. He laced up his boots, pulled on his gloves, and tucked a scarf around his neck. He went out the front door without a word and ducked his head against the rain. He walked through puddles and kicked aside an empty beer bottle to climb the steps to the Rogers’ house.

 

He just let himself in; the door was unlocked. Bucky took his coat off, hung it up, stuffed his gloves and scarf into the pockets. He wiped off his boots, then headed upstairs.

 

The house was very quiet, until he heard a weak cough. Bucky rapped his knuckles along the doorframe as he entered Ma Rogers’ bedroom.

 

Steve sat in a chair with a book in his lap and laid out on the bed, deathly pale, Ma Rogers was breathing slowly and shallowly. Bucky gave her his best smile and perched on the edge of his bed.

 

“Hey,” he said softly. “How ya doin’, Ma?”

 

Ma Rogers offered him a smile in return; it bloomed slowly and brought the age lines on her cheeks and forehead and around her eyes into definition.

 

“I’m alright,” she said quietly. “You, dear?”

 

“Oh, spiffy,” Bucky said, popping the collar on his jacket. “Got meself a nice New Year bonus, a raise comin’ soon. I’m movin’ into my own place next week.”

 

“Good,” Ma answered him weakly, her eyes closing as she nodded. “Good,” she repeated in a murmur.

 

Bucky looked towards Steve, then nudged his knee. “How ‘bout you, punk?”

 

Steve could hardly smile at Bucky. He looked so tired.

 

Ma Rogers had the consumption. It was a miracle that Steve hadn’t caught it, but he refused to let his mother spend her last days in quarantine.

 

Bucky understood. Sure, he was terrified, but he got it.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve murmured.

 

“No, ya ain’t, punk,” Bucky said quietly, standing up to grip Steve’s shoulder. “Don’ lie.”

 

Steve shrugged. He didn’t lean into Bucky, like Bucky wished or he might used to do. Bucky squeezed his shoulder again.

 

“You two go enjoy your New Year’s,” Ma Rogers told them, lifting a frail hand. “You’ve got better things to do than keep a dying woman company.”

 

“Like what?” Steve asked, trying for another smile.

 

“I can’t think’a nothin’ better,” Bucky said.

 

Ma Rogers smiled fondly at them. “Bullshit,” she said. “Go find something fun. Go listen to the radio, have some supper.”

 

“You ain’t had supper?” Bucky asked Steve, looking down at him. “It’s half past eleven, punk!”

 

“I ain’t had time,” Steve said, looking down.

 

“Drag ‘im down to eat supper,” Ma Rogers told Bucky.

 

Bucky saluted. “Ain’t gotta tell me twice, Ma,” he said.

 

“Ma –” Steve started to complain in a sigh.

 

Bucky grabbed Steve by the back of his shirt and yanked him up out of the chair. Steve squawked in protest, but before he could do more than that, Bucky spun him around and knocked into his midriff, tossing him over his shoulder.

 

“You little shit!” Steve yelled, beating at Bucky’s back. “Put me down!”

 

“Your ma tol’ me t’a get food in ya,” Bucky insisted, walking out with Steve. “I’m gonna get food in ya if I gotta shove it down your loud mouth, punk.”

 

“I’m gonna kill you!” Steve insisted.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky answered, taking the stairs with thumping steps. “Aft’a I get some bread rammed down your face.”

 

“Gonna choke you with your stupid fucking tie!” Steve swore, twisting and squirming as best as he could on Bucky’s shoulder, hitting him as hard as he could on the back. Bucky didn’t care. “See how you like it!”

 

Bucky just carried Steve into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a loaf of bread bought from the grocer. Ma Rogers hadn’t made fresh bread since she got sick.

 

Steve was the most stubborn little shit Bucky had ever met, but even stubborn punks run out of steam now and then. Steve was pretty low on fight that night.

 

He quit beating Bucky’s back. Bucky took that as his cue to put Steve back on his feet, setting him on the floor near the ice box. Steve gave out. He sank onto the floor, his back to the icebox, and covered his face with his hands. Bucky dropped the bread onto the counter and knelt down next to his best friend, pulling Steve into his arms and tucking him into a tight hug.

 

Steve quaked. Bucky pressed his cheek against Steve’s limp and unwashed hair, holding onto him tightly.

 

“‘S alright,” Bucky said softly. “Let it out, buddy.”

 

Steve fisted his hands in Bucky’s jacket, buried his face against Bucky’s chest, and let out a scream that was muffled by Bucky’s clothes. It lasted for a good few seconds, then faded into a choked-off sob. Bucky tugged Steve tighter.

 

“Let it out,” he murmured, rubbing his hand into Steve’s back, the way he would to calm him from an asthma attack. “Let it out.”

 

Steve screamed once more, fading into another sob. Bucky shifted onto his legs, then onto his ass and pulled Steve into his chest, nearly into his lap. Bucky hadn’t gotten to hold Steve like this in a very long time, certainly not this intimately. Much had changed since Bucky had last held Steve in his arms this closely. They’d grown up a lot, been through plenty. Bucky had kissed dozens of girls and Steve had kissed exactly one, Steve had graduated high school and Bucky hadn’t, Bucky had lost his virginity and Steve hadn’t.

 

Bucky had fallen in love, with Steve. And Steve hadn’t.

 

“I’ve gotcha, punk,” Bucky promised. “You’ll always have me, yeah?”

 

Steve’s sobs and screams eventually petered out. Eventually, he went limp. Eventually, he sagged against Bucky’s chest. Eventually, he let out one last, quiet whimper and ran out of tears.

 

Bucky lifted his head and caught sight of the kitchen clock. He nudged Steve.

 

“C’mon,” he said, pushing up. “C’mere, punk.”

 

Steve let Bucky pull him up from the floor. Bucky walked him back to the stairs, grabbed a blanket and then took him all the way up to the roof. Bucky tossed the blanket over Steve’s shoulders.

 

“We got a front-row seat,” Bucky said, sitting down on the edge of the roof. “Fireworks are gonna start in just a minute.”

 

Steve lowered himself onto the ledge next to Bucky. He said nothing but tossed the blanket over Bucky’s shoulders, too. He leaned against Bucky and Bucky tossed his arm over Steve’s shoulders, squeezing them.

 

“What’s your New Year’s wish?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve laughed quietly, weakly. “Wouldn’t come true if I told you.”

 

“I wish for a car,” Bucky claimed. “An’ I’m gonna get it, too!”

 

Steve laughed again, a little more strongly. Bucky squeezed his shoulders again. It wasn’t actually his wish, of course. Every year for the past five years, he’d wished that his love for Steve could either fade or be requited.

 

He knew that wish would never come true, either.

 

Steve pulled the blanket closed around them both. “I wish for a happy new year,” he said quietly.

 

Bucky gave him another squeeze. “Me, too, punk. Me, too.”

 

In barely a few minutes, the fireworks began. Bucky shook Steve’s shoulders and wished him a happy New Year.

 

Steve turned and grabbed Bucky’s tie. Bucky didn’t have a moment to realize what was happening until Steve was pressing their lips together firmly.

 

Kissing him.

 

Bucky was too stunned to do anything for a second, then Steve started to pull back. Bucky caught the back of his head in one hand and his cheek in the other and tugged him back in, renewing the kiss. There were cheers and strains of Auld Lang Syne all around them under the booming firework. Steve’s lips were wet and cold and the best kiss Bucky had ever had.

 

They broke apart. Bucky was out of breath somehow.

 

“Happy New Year, Buck,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky fisted his hand in Steve’s hair. “You remember New Year’a 1925?” he asked quietly.

 

“I was sick,” Steve answered.

 

“Your ma said only married people kissed for New Years,” Bucky added.

 

Steve smiled a very small smile. He pressed their foreheads together.

 

“You said we’d just get married,” he murmured.

 

“We can pretend,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve nodded. Bucky pressed their lips together again, wanting nothing more than to keep kissing Steve for the rest of the year. But Steve pulled back again, putting his hand between their lips, and Bucky got his senses back.

 

“We should check on my mother,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky nodded. He stood up from the ledge and offered his hand to Steve, helping him up. Steve pulled the blanket fully around him, walking in front of Bucky to take the stairs back down.

 

Likely just as much as Steve, Bucky dreaded walking into Ma Rogers’s bedroom. Every moment they turned their backs, she could pass away unnoticed. It was why Steve wasn’t eating as much. He didn’t want to leave his mother’s bedside.

 

“Ma?” Steve said gently, knocking on her door. “Happy New Year.”

 

Bucky saw it first. Hastily, he caught Steve’s arm before he could get too far in. Steve didn’t resist as Bucky yanked him back out, pulling him away, then he saw Ma Rogers’s glassy, open eyes.

 

“Ma!” Steve shouted abruptly, now fighting hard to get away from Bucky. “Ma, you – you’re not –! You can’t –!”

 

“Stay back,” Bucky warned Steve, “c’mon, you can’t go near ‘er –”

 

“No!” Steve screamed, shoving Bucky away. “Ma!”

 

Bucky stumbled but caught Steve’s arm again, yanking him back. He yanked Steve all the way out of the room and grabbed the door, slamming it shut. Steve fought to get away and Bucky half-tackled him, picking him up and carrying him away. Steve was screaming, crying, sobbing, but Bucky carried him down the stairs and away from Ma Rogers’ body.

 

He had promised Mrs. Rogers that he wouldn’t let Steve touch her body once she died. She would be incredibly contagious, even more than when she’d been alive. Bucky had promised.

 

“Let me go!” Steve screamed. “Lemme go, lemme go, she’s not dead, she’s not!”

 

“Stevie, I can’t,” Bucky said over his sobbing, “she made me promise, Stevie –”

 

“She’s not dead!” Steve screamed.

 

Bucky forwent the coats. He yanked open the front door and ran as best as he could next door, back home, bursting through his parents’ front door.

 

“She’s not dead!” Steve shouted hoarsely now. “No…”

 

Bucky’s ma and pa and sister appeared in the doorway of the mudroom, their eyes wide and worried. Bucky put Steve down just inside the house, lowering him gently. Steve just collapsed against Bucky again.

 

“Sarah –” Bucky’s ma started.

 

Bucky shook his head. Pa touched his shoulder as he pushed past and Ma took Steve’s arms, pulling him inside.

 

“Come and sit down, sugar,” Ma crooned to Steve, “we’ll get some hot tea in you and some food.”

 

Bucky followed a little hopeless. Steve crumpled into the sofa and Rebecca sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Bucky lingered just behind the sofa, then simply gripped Steve’s shoulder.

 

His ma might suspect that Bucky was queer, but he didn’t need to confirm it. And he didn’t need to let her know that Steve was, too. Maybe later –

 

Pa came back in. Steve twisted up and looked around, his face frozen in aborted hope.

 

“I’m sorry,” Pa said.

 

Steve deflated. He slumped over his lap, throwing his arms over his head. Bucky swung around the sofa and dropped down next to him, his hand remaining on Steve’s shoulder, and Rebecca draped her arms over Steve’s back to keep hugging him. She looked up at Bucky and there were tears of sympathy in her eyes.

 

Ma came in with a mug, putting it onto the coffee table in front of Steve. Pa put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“I’ll call the church,” Pa said gently. “They’ll take care of her.”

 

Steve let out a choked sob. Bucky gripped his shoulder harder.

 

“You can stay here until you get something figured out, son,” Pa told Steve.

 

“You can move in with me,” Bucky added quickly.

 

He had been planning to offer anyway, but he had hardly processed what that might mean now that Steve had kissed him. He just knew that Steve wouldn’t be able to stay in his mother’s home once she passed. Mrs. Rogers didn’t own the house.

 

“I’ll put some extra blankets and pillows in your room, Bucky,” Ma said gently. “Steve? Would you please eat a little something?”

 

Steve didn’t even seem to hear her. Ma sighed.

 

“I’ll take care’a him,” Bucky told her.

 

Ma nodded. She never stayed up longer than 12:05, Bucky knew she was tired. There was nothing they could do then than sleep.

 

Ma and Pa went up to bed. Rebecca stayed for a while longer, but the mug Ma had brought Steve had gone cold by the time she left. Bucky let Steve just sit there for a while, then took his hands and pulled him up off the couch.

 

“C’mon,” Bucky told him softly. “You can sleep in my bed.”

 

Steve didn’t say anything. Bucky might think that he was asleep on his feet if it weren’t for his red-rimmed eyes.

 

“C’mon,” Bucky murmured, taking Steve up the stairs. “It’ll be alright, punk.”

 

There was a bedroll, a few pillows, and some blankets sat on the floor by his bed. Bucky pushed Steve down onto the bed, then while Steve was staring numbly into space, he efficiently stripped him down to his skivvies and tugged one of his own nightshirts over Steve’s head. Bucky pushed Steve down into the bed, pulled the blankets over him, and took a risk to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek.

 

“Good night, punk,” Bucky said softly. “It’ll still be a happy new year.”

 

Steve caught Bucky’s wrist. He met Bucky’s eyes for the first time since they saw Ma Rogers’ sightless gaze.

 

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Please?”

 

Bucky cast a glance towards the door. It was shut. He nodded, then stripped down to his boxers and kicked his clothes away. He got into the bed with Steve, pulling the blankets around both of them. Steve pressed into Bucky’s side, his skinny arms clinging around Bucky’s waist. Bucky kissed Steve’s hair, then Steve looked up and Bucky just kissed him.

 

It tasted like tears again but Bucky still hadn’t ever had a better kiss. Bucky could feel Steve’s heart beating in grief against his ribs but it didn’t matter.

 

“Your ma’ll always be with you,” Bucky whispered against Steve’s lips. “She’s gone to be an angel now and she’s gonna be your angel, okay?”

 

Steve trembled and Bucky wrapped his arms around him tightly.

 

“Won’t let go ‘til dawn,” he murmured. “It’ll be alright.”

 

“Happy New Year,” Steve whispered in a broken voice. “Happy New Year, Ma.”

 

“Happy New Year, punk,” Bucky whispered back.

 

#  _December 31st, 1944_

 

Bucky pushed the flaps of his tent open to step out into the firelight of their campsite. All of the Howlies were gathered around, puffing as much smoke as the fire itself. Steve was directly across the camp from Bucky, his newly strong tight and contoured by the fire. He was wrapped in the same army issued jacket as the rest of them and the dog tags around his neck caught the light.

 

They weren’t actually his dog tags. They were Bucky’s. Bucky wore Steve’s. They were still pretending, like kids, that they could have as much of each other as possible.

 

“We really stayin’ up ‘til midnight?” Bucky grumbled.

 

“Yes,” Steve told him sharply. “We really are.”

 

Bucky exhaled wearily, dropping his gaze. He stepped over the log that Monty and Junior were using as a bench, then crossed between Dum Dum, Jonesy, and Pinkie and the fire. He kicked at Happy Sam’s ankle and Sam’s chin slipped off his hand as he snorted awake.

 

“Scoot,” Bucky grumbled.

 

“He’s fine,” Steve muttered.

 

“I said, scoot,” Bucky repeated darkly.

 

Happy Sam huffed, mumbling a _Jeez_ as he got up and moved. Bucky took his spot next to Steve, promptly spreading out on the log. Steve sat stiffly next to him, so Bucky threw his arm over Steve’s shoulders.

 

Steve had been leading the Howlies for over a year. They’d all been through hell and back, Bucky would gladly trust his life to his men; he’d gladly trust _Steve’s_ life to them.

 

“I don’t think cuddlin’s gonna get’cha outta the doghouse, Sarge,” Dum Dum chuckled.

 

“You’d think that,” Bucky countered, “but this punk is clingier than a traumatized housewife.”

 

“Shuddup,” Steve protested weakly, but he was leaning into Bucky.

 

The Howlies had figured out Bucky and Steve were queer months ago. They’d had their backs ever since.

 

“What time ‘sit?” Jonesy asked.

 

“Uh,” Morita answered stallingly, starting to dig around for his watch. He exclaimed as he found it and tilted it to catch the light of the fire. “Almost eleven.”

 

“I’m hungry,” Junior muttered.

 

“Somebody get that kid some food,” Bucky said.

 

“Ain’t got any,” Morita reminded him. “Was all in the truck you blew up.”

 

“Dernier blew it up!” Bucky defended himself.

 

“Oh, bien sur, blâme moi,” Dernier answered petulantly, fiddling with their broken radio.

 

“But you put it in the blast zone,” Steve grumbled.

 

Bucky glared at Steve. “We rendezvous with the 99th tomorrow anyway,” he muttered under his breath.

 

Steve sighed then. He shifted to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky tipped his head against Steve’s.

 

“1945’s gonna be our year,” Bucky said quietly. “Don’t you worry your pretty head, doll.”

 

Steve simply nodded. The aura around their campsite was decidedly muted. They were all exhausted, filthy, bruised, though unbeaten. They were close to wiping out Hydra, for one thing. They were close to seeing the end of the war for another.

 

“I would’a been fine sleepin’ through the start’a 1945,” Bucky admitted.

 

“We always stay up,” Steve answered him softly.

 

Bucky squeezed his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “You’re right,” he said. “Don’t worry about it, punk.”

 

“Is that thing almost fixed?” Monty asked Dernier.

 

“Ah,” Dernier mused aloud, lifting the mess of a radio in his hands, “presque là. Almost.”

 

“Dum Dum!” Morita called. “Tell some stories, man.”

 

Dum Dum let out a long groan, leaning back on his log. “Jesus, I don’t think I got any more stories.”

 

“How ‘bout kids tryna win a war,” Bucky said.

 

“Oof,” Dum Dum answered. “That’s a sad one, man.”

 

Dum Dum was their storyteller. The man they sent to conjure the right fibs to disguise what they’re really been doing or to confuse generals and colonels long enough that Bucky and Steve could make themselves look like they hadn’t just been fucking. Dum Dum told stories. They all agreed that he ought to write them down sometime. Dum Dum said no, he didn’t write stories, he just passed them on.

 

Bucky leaned his head against Steve’s as Dum Dum launched into a new tale about a group of kids trying to liberate their hometown from Nazis. Dernier continued to work on the radio. Morita and Monty and Jonesy threw in details to keep Dum Dum going whenever he faltered and Jonesy only yawned seven times.

 

“Almost midnight,” Morita reported eventually.

 

“How long?” Steve asked.

 

Morita squinted a little longer at his watch. “Twelve minutes,” he said.

 

Steve nodded a little. Bucky stifled a yawn of his own.

 

“And then…” Dum Dum continued.

 

Morita interrupted Dum Dum to tell them that midnight was only a minute away. Steve sat up a little and Bucky hiked his arm higher up on Steve’s shoulders. Dernier didn’t pause in his tinkering.

 

“Hold on,” Pinkie said, grabbing his rucksack. He dug around in it and produced a hip flask. “I’ve got some whiskey,” he told them, unscrewing the cap.

 

“Pass it around!” Jonesy encouraged.

 

Pinkie took a swallow and handed the flask to Junior. Junior swigged and passed to Monty. Morita drank, then passed to Morita. Morita drank and passed it to Dernier. Dernier drank, then passed it to Steve and Steve passed it to Bucky. Bucky drank, taking barely even a mouthful, and passed it to Dum Dum. Dum Dum squinted inside, checking the level, then swigged and passed to Happy Sam, who drank and passed it to Jonesy. Jonesy raised the bottle to his lips and tipped it back.

 

“Empty,” he said, handing it back to Pinkie.

 

“Good enough,” Pinkie answered, putting the cap back on.

 

“Midnight,” Morita said.

 

Bucky turned and cupped Steve’s chin in his hand, turning his face in to press a shameless kiss to his lips. Steve grabbed Bucky’s jacket to curl his fist into it tightly. Bucky let the kiss last barely a few seconds, however.

 

“Ah!” Dernier shouted abruptly.

 

Bucky and Steve turned to look just as the radio crackled to life. Notes of Auld Lang Syne began to play.

 

“It’s a miracle,” Monty laughed.

 

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot,” Happy Sam began to sing along to the radio, “and never brought to mind?”

 

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot,” Jonesy and Pinkie joined in, “and auld lang syne?”

 

“For auld lang syne, my jo,” Bucky added his voice, leaning his head against Steve’s, “for auld lang syne. We’ll take a cup’o kindness yet, for auld lang syne.”

 

The radio sounded like shit, but the four of them managed a harmony. Bucky stumbled over a few words, since he didn’t know Auld Lang Syne all that well, but Happy Sam sang clear and true when the rest of them forgot a word. When the song ended, all the radio did was start it over again.

 

“Happy New Year,” Morita said.

 

“Happy New Year,” the rest of them answered.

 

Bucky twisted to hug Steve a little better, pressing his forehead into Steve’s neck. “Happy New Year, punk,” he murmured softly.

 

It would be a happy year yet. They were so close to ending the war. In just a few weeks, they would be capturing Arnim Zola as he crossed the Swiss Alps. 1945 would be a happy year, Bucky would make sure of it.

 

#  _December 31st, 1978_

 

The mission was successful. The target had been eliminated. The Soldier stood motionless on a corner of a busy street, waiting for extraction. The city around it was bright and lively; the Soldier was anything but. The sky was dark out and there were civilians everywhere. They were singing. The Soldier was simply waiting for extraction.

 

_“Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, for auld lang syne?”_

 

The Soldier was… conflicted. Error.

 

The Soldier did not react when its handlers approached. One took out a device and pressed a button and the shock collar around the Soldier’s neck activated. The Soldier jolted, its jaw clamping shut even when a bit of tongue rested between the molars. The Soldier tasted blood and did not react. The Soldier felt pain and did not react.

 

_Auld Lang Syne. For Auld Lang Syne, my jo._

 

Where was his jo?

 

The shock collar deactivated.

 

“Soldier, to attention,” the first handler ordered.

 

The Soldier jerked and snapped into parade rest. It waited for further orders.

 

“Walk,” the first handler said.

 

“For Auld Lang Syne!” several tourists sang as they passed.

 

The Soldier hesitated. Error.

 

“Soldier!” the first handler snapped.

 

“What year is it?” the Soldier asked stiffly.

 

The two handlers glanced at each other. There was fear in their eyes. The Soldier both did and didn’t understand. It knew they were afraid of it, but they had the codes, the remote to the shock collar, everything. The Soldier couldn’t defeat them, even if it wanted to. It had no will. It had no heart.

 

“Why’s it want to know the year?” the second handler hissed to the first.

 

“I don’t know!” the first hissed back.

 

“Please?” the Soldier asked.

 

“1978,” the second handler said hastily, grabbing the remote to the shock collar from the first, or trying

 

“Nah, mate, it’s past midnight!” the first said. “1979 now!”

 

“Whatever,” the second answered, jerking the remote from the first handler at last. “Soldier, zhelaniye!”

 

The Soldier jerked, flinching viscerally just at the sound of that word. It staggered and hit the wall of the building next to it, grabbing onto the brick surface to keep upright.

 

“Walk,” the second handler ordered.

 

The Soldier pushed off the wall, shaking its head. Error, cognition conflict. The Soldier… felt. Something? What could the Soldier feel that wasn’t pain?

 

“For Auld Lang Syne, my jo!”

 

“God, I hate that bloody song,” the first handler growled. “My jo, my jo, what the fuck does my jo even mean?”

 

“My dear,” the second handler said. “Means m’dear.”

 

“Fag nerd,” the first handler accused. “Shock it again.”

 

“I’m walking,” the Soldier said quickly.

 

The two handlers looked stunned. The Soldier pushed off the wall and put one foot in front of the other. He stumbled once or twice, feeling as though he were almost drunk. He rubbed at his face, feeling a headache pounding behind his temples.

 

“Soldier, mission report,” a handler said behind him.

 

“Successful,” the Soldier answered obediently. “Target eliminated. No witnesses.”

 

“It seems fine,” one hissed to the other.

 

“It’s not s’posed to use personal pronouns!”

 

“Come off it, it’s not that bad.”

 

“You don’t remember the last time it said _I._ ”

 

The Soldier walked. He knew the words to this song.

 

“We’ll just have to wipe him the second we get back.”

 

“It!”

 

“Sorry, Jesus, it!”

 

“For Auld Lang Syne, my jo,” the Soldier sang softly. “We’ll take a cup’a kindness yet, for auld lang syne.”

 

“Happy New Year!” he heard all around him.

 

The Soldier ought to wish his jo a happy New Year; if only he could find him. Where had that punk gotten himself now? He’d bet his other arm it was some kind of trouble.

 

#  _December 1st, 2016_

 

He didn’t really know who he was anymore. Not the Soldier, not James Buchanan Barnes. He had to have a name, though, and Bucky was just the easiest.

 

But though he wasn’t that man anymore, he still had that man’s instincts in him. He’d had James Buchanan Barnes’s instinct to protect much longer than he’d had the Soldier’s instinct to fight.

 

He was just looking to fill his cupboards when he saw it. The headline was in Romanian, but he somehow knew the letters well enough to translate it into English. Even without that, he knew what it meant.

 

 _Captain America Mourns Old Sweetheart._ Peggy Carter’s portrait and gravestone took up the sidebar of the magazine, but the cover spread was Rogers’ face. It was in full color. Bucky still sometimes was taken aback at color photographs. Steven Rogers’ face covered the magazine, taken from a distance, as he carried a coffin on his shoulder with the blurred faces of other pallbearers behind him. One single tear was captured in high definition on Rogers’ face.

 

“ _Would you like to buy the magazine?_ ” the shop owner asked in Romanian.

 

“ _No,_ ” Bucky answered, shaking his head. His gaze was still fixed on Rogers’ face. “ _Thank you, no._ ”

 

Bucky tried to just go home. To ignore the screaming directive in him to find his Stevie, hold him close and wipe away that single tear. He knew Steve didn’t cry, hadn’t shed a tear since his ma died. If a camera had caught him crying, then he was in bad shape. Bucky knew that, but he didn’t know how or why or even why he should care as viscerally as he did.

 

He tried to ignore it, but it was everywhere. Everyone was reading that magazine, every TV was showing a clip, every social media site he saw in passing was frantic over it. Bucky was barely a block away from his apartment when he caught a slip of conversation between two men calling Rogers a pussy for crying over Carter’s death and he just snapped.

 

He had just a backpack’s worth of things, but an entire pouch was just stuffed with money. Bucky had spent the first year after escaping Hydra raiding bank accounts, and since then, had collected enough money to keep him moving from place to place across Europe. He’d killed anyone connected to Hydra while he’d been at it, too. Bucky knew he had enough for a plane ticket and though he didn’t trust airlines, he couldn’t waste time getting to Steve. He used a fake ID and passport and a sketchy airport and got on an airplane. He had three stops – Spain, Iceland, then Montreal – before he finally landed in New York.

 

He hadn’t remembered why Steven Rogers felt like an integral part of his soul, but he still knew how to track him. Rogers lived in a shithole apartment in Navy Hill, Brooklyn, between a retired Polish school-teacher from and two of the oldest lesbians in New York. Down the street were an underfunded public school (Rogers made monthly donations), several struggling small businesses, and some soon-to-be discovered hipster hangouts.

 

Bucky walked from the airport. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it was the last day of the year, but he still wasn’t enough human enough to understand fully the implications. He did remember it was important, even to him and Steve, even if he didn’t remember him and Steve. Much.

 

Bucky took the fire escape up and jimmied the window open. He slipped inside and listened, but heard no one. It was only the middle of the afternoon, so Bucky guessed Steve was celebrating New Year’s Eve somewhere else.

 

The apartment wasn’t just empty of people, it was almost as empty of everything that made a home as Bucky’s different hidey-holes across Europe. There were no newspapers or magazines on the coffee table. No plants, no books, no pictures anywhere. Bucky snooped through the living room, the kitchen, and the bedroom. There was nothing. Bucky’s research said Rogers always came back to this place after missions, but he didn’t have a clue why. The place didn’t feel like a home.

 

The fridge wasn’t even full. Bucky stood there looking into it for a minute, then turned around and went back out the window. He walked until he found a deli and a bakery, bought plenty of soup and some good meat and bread, then headed back. He took the fire escape up again, went back through the window and shut it behind him. He moved into the kitchen and started unloading his purchases.

 

The front door opened. Bucky froze, a deer in headlights. Rogers walked in and tossed his keys onto a shelf by the door. He turned and his tired eyes lifted to Bucky’s. Rogers froze, too.

 

For a second, neither of them said anything. Rogers’s lips parted just a little. Bucky swallowed a lump in his throat. Rogers’s eyes went wide, Bucky blinked.

 

“Hi,” Bucky said quietly.

 

Rogers made a strangled, confused noise. He pointed at Bucky as though he didn’t believe he was there. Bucky cleared his throat.

 

“You been eatin’ out for every meal?” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to the fridge. “You ain’t got nothin’ but protein shakes and water bottles in there.”

 

“I…–” Rogers said dumbly.

 

“I got you real food,” Bucky continued nervously. He picked up a bag of sliced pastrami and a container of hot soup. “Your favorites, I think. I – I don’t really remember.”

 

Rogers’s mouth worked uselessly. Bucky fidgeted where he stood, at a loss as for what to do now. He’d run out of steam. He hadn’t really thought through meeting Rogers again. Maybe he’d thought that he’d just fill Rogers’s fridge and then go back to Europe, Bucky didn’t know.

 

“Why are you here?” Rogers asked then. Voice cracking and hurt.

 

Bucky winced.

 

“Saw the news,” he said, his gaze dropping. “Carter passed away. Thought – Thought you could use a friend.”

 

Rogers didn’t say anything then. Bucky cleared his throat again.

 

“I remember she was special to you,” he said. “She was your girl, right?”

 

“No,” Rogers said quietly.

 

Bucky looked back up, confused. He shrugged. “She was special,” he said. “So – So you’d need…” He couldn’t finish. He shrugged. “I don’ know.”

 

Rogers took a cautious step forward, his hand lifting like he was worried Bucky might bolt like a wild animal. It was a fair concern to have. Bucky looked down again at the loaf of fresh soda bread he’d bought. He didn’t remember why, but he knew soda bread was special.

 

“Are you staying?” Rogers asked. He was gaining control over his voice again, but it wasn’t getting calmer, it was getting somehow firmer and flatter. Like he was just hiding his emotions rather than dealing with them.

 

Bucky glanced up and for a second he hesitated. Steve’s eyes were so wide and there was something so fragile in them. Steve had been on his own for the five years he’d been in the future. What had Bucky done to help his punk?

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said thickly. “Yeah, pal, I’m staying.”

 

Steve clenched his jaw and visibly swallowed. He didn’t move any closer. Bucky sighed and took matters into his own hands. He moved out from behind the counter and raised his arms.

 

“C’mere, punk,” he said softly.

 

Steve let out another strangled noise, of relief this time. He all but fell into Bucky’s arms. Bucky locked his wrists and pressed his cheek against Steve’s hair, rocking his baby back and forth where they stood. Steve broke into harsh sobs, all sounds of such _relief._

 

“I was startin’ t’a think you’d never come back!” Steve stammered. “I thought you’d – you’d left me…”

 

“No,” Bucky murmured. “Nah, I’d never leave you, babydoll.”

 

Steve still clung to him like he was afraid of losing him. Bucky held him just as tightly. He felt true now. He felt alive now. Like everything that Hydra had done to convince him that he wasn’t a man, that he wasn’t Bucky Barnes, had been finally erased just by this. Like all he’d needed was his Stevie to truly feel real again.

 

Outside, fireworks went off. There were shouts through the walls and on the streets of _Happy New Year!_ Bucky let go with one hand to touch Steve’s cheek, coaxing him up, and they kissed. Steve’s lips tasted like tears.

 

“Happy New Year, punk,” Bucky murmured against his mouth.

 

Steve laughed softly, grabbing Bucky’s face and pressing their foreheads together. “Happy New Year, jerk,” he whispered back thickly.

 

#  _December 31st, 2017_

 

“Alright, alright, everybody got champagne?” Tony shouted over the chatter and the sound of the TV. “Wilson, Barton, the Russian duo?”

 

“I’m not Russian!” Bucky protested in annoyance.

 

“I meant the twins!” Tony defended himself.

 

“We’re not Russian, either,” Wanda laughed.

 

Tony waved a hand, rolling his eyes. “Same difference,” he said.

 

“Wait a second!” Steve called, jogging over with funky _2018_ glasses pushed up his forehead and ruffling his hair. “What’re you givin’ Wanda and Pietro champagne for, they ain’t old enough t’a drink!”

 

Bucky swooped in and confiscated the champagne flutes in Pietro and Wanda’s hands.

 

“Oh, come on!” Pietro shouted.

 

“Point,” Tony agreed.

 

Bucky crossed to Steve’s side and handed him one of the two glasses. “Here ya go, sugar,” he said happily.

 

“Thank you,” Steve answered primly, plucking the glass from Bucky’s fingers and taking a gulp.

 

“Ugh,” Tony declared. “If you two keep flirting, I’m gonna break up the Avengers to get away from you.”

 

“Daddy, would you get me more champagne?” Steve asked promptly, handing his glass back to Bucky.

 

“THAT’S IT!” Tony shouted as Bucky, as well as half of the rest of the Avengers, laughed and took the glass.

 

“Sure thing, babydoll,” Bucky said, leaning over to peck Steve’s cheek. “Need anything else?”

 

“Not that you can give me around the children,” Steve replied cheekily.

 

Tony let out a loud, frustrated noise and threw his hands up in the air before walking off. Bucky laughed again and shifted the extra champagne glass into his left hand with his own to free up his right. Then he happily slapped Steve’s ass. Steve jolted and grinned and Bucky chuckled as he headed back to the bar to refill their glasses.

 

“Scarred for life!” Tony shouted across the room. “You’ve ruined my 2017!”

 

“Homophobia!” Steve countered.

 

“I can’t be homophobic, I’ve sucked dick before!” Tony retorted.

 

“Really?” Steve asked, genuinely surprised.

 

“I was drunk,” Tony said with a shrug.

 

Bucky handed Steve his glass and tugged him into a seat, throwing his arm over Steve’s shoulders.

 

“Was it life-changing?” Steve continued.

 

“Not especially,” Tony said with surprising seriousness.

 

“You were sucking the wrong dick,” Steve told him.

 

“Or I’m just not gay,” Tony answered.

 

Steve tipped his champagne glass with a shrug. Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

“It’s almost midnight!” Peter shouted. “Stop arguing!”

 

“Don’t talk to your father like that,” Clint retorted.

 

“I hate it when Dad and Dad fight,” Natasha joked.

 

“Mom and Dad,” Bucky corrected. “We’ve already established that I’m Steve’s Daddy.”

 

“He could be your little boy,” Natasha argued. “We don’t know!”

 

“I’m his little sex kitten,” Steve volunteered. “Now you know.”

 

“‘Sides, you ain’t seen him in pearls and a house dress,” Bucky added.

 

Steve turned and grinned at Bucky, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. Bucky snorted and tugged him a little closer.

 

“Can we start 2018 with less info on Cap and Robocop’s sex lives?” Sam requested.

 

“That’s barely the tip’a the iceberg,” Bucky returned. “This morning –”

 

“Nan-na-nah, we’re not listening!” Tony shouted.

 

“There are children present!” Clint said, covering Peter’s ears.

 

“Whoops,” Bucky muttered. “Sorry.”

 

“I’m 16!” Peter defended himself.

 

“Aw, widdle baby!” Sam called, leaning over to pinch Peter’s cheek.

 

Peter tried to fight him off and the others laughed. Steve pulled his legs up onto the sofa and slumped to lie in Bucky’s lap, smiling as he watched Peter and Sam tussle. Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve was playing on a massive TV mounted on the wall, but none of them were really paying attention, not until Natasha shouted:

 

“TEN!”

 

Bucky quickly joined in on the countdown. Steve sat up, champagne at the ready. Tony moved to cuddle Pepper, Clint snuck up on Natasha, and Bucky twisted a little on the sofa to be ready to kiss Steve at midnight.

 

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” they all shouted together.

 

Bucky and Steve leaned in at the same time. Bucky grinned a little into the kiss, slipping his tongue inside Steve’s mouth to appreciate the hints of champagne in his taste. Steve moaned a little for him, giving in so prettily, and Bucky grabbed Steve’s hip to pull him that much closer.

 

“Clink your glasses!” Tony shouted.

 

Bucky and Steve broke apart and Bucky stuck his tongue out at Tony. He and Steve clinked their glasses, then went around clinking their glasses with everyone else before downing their drinks. (Peter, Pietro, and Wanda had been given non-alcoholic champagne.)

 

“Shall auld acquaintance be forgot for auld lang syne!” Clint and Sam sang together loudly.

 

“You guys enjoy the rest of your celebrations,” Steve announced, putting his and Bucky’s glasses down on a table. “We’re gonna hit the sack.”

 

“Yeah, y’know, we’re old,” Bucky added, sticking his hand in Steve’s back pocket.

 

“So exhausted,” Steve continued, faking a yawn.

 

“We know you’re going to go do it, get outta here!” Tony waved them off.

 

Laughing, Bucky tugged Steve away and to the elevator. Clint wolf-whistled as they left amongst other laughter. Steve and Bucky tumbled into the elevator, Steve already falling into Bucky’s arms, a wide grin on his face.

 

“Happy New Year, jerk,” he said softly.

 

Bucky gave him another long kiss before he answered. “Happy New Year, punk.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _i did none-a/b/o, omg, yes, it's a miracle. i did a T rated thing, too, omg! funny story, i put out a notice on an abandoned story on my FF.net (*shudder*) a while ago and one of the peeved reviewers decided to notify other readers to not bother following me to ao3, as it was full of nothing but lemons. lemons. **lemons**. i shit you not. since then, i've been kinda fixated on the fact that so much of my stuff is rated M, but like, more than half of it is rated M bc of violence? so i'm kinda victorious to post this bc it's not another lemon. (i still can't get over the fact that someone in 2018 genuinely called my fics lemons.)_
> 
>  
> 
> _i hope you've enjoyed this lil fic and i'm hyped to see what i get in the House of Stucky's Secret Santa! if you're interested in joining the discord server, you can check it out[here](https://discord.gg/ZedUshX). House of Stucky is super fun to be a part of and there are so many awesome and quirky people contributing to the server; personally, my fav channels are the kinky prompt channels "femme-legsfordays" and "steve-is-a-bottom." i have a preference, guys._
> 
>  _edit 1/6/19: hey, have you seen steve in pearls in a house dress? because you could! chaosdraws drew this amazing rendition for my other fic edges blurred, but the concept still applies. check it out[here](http://chaosdraws.tumblr.com/post/176599137671/just-some-steve-wearing-a-pretty-dress-for)!_  
>  
> 
> _follow me on[tumblr](http://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/moonythejedi394)or [reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/moonythejedi394) bc tumblr is dying_


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